


memory

by mako_lies (wingeddserpent)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddserpent/pseuds/mako_lies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg really is helping Sam and Cas find Dean. Absolutely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	memory

**Author's Note:**

> Contains reference to past torture and demonic possession.

Meg has seen angels die before. She has killed angels before; pure blinding burst of light, screaming outwards, then silence. But she's never seen an angel die slow.  
  
Lucifer burned his imperfect vessel out slowly, with tiny bursts of rot and blood, peeling skin back layer by layer to reveal the Light beneath. It was the vessel that gave, not the Archangel.  
  
It's the same with Cas--except Cas is the burning out shell, with foreign Grace peeling him from the inside, leaving his skin hot as the Pit itself, with fevers dancing in his eyes. Angel sweat smells like human sweat, like human sick. Meg finds herself the only one awake; the bed is heavy with their exhaustion. Curled tight against her side, Cas is a furnace that bridges Sam and herself. The tips of Sam's fingers press hard into her meat, his face all sleep-twisted. Meg remembers his ravenous cold dreaming--the marble delicacy of Jess's face on the ceiling, the ash of Dean's smile as his heart gave way, the way the caffeine splattered when Sam dropped it.  
  
His dreams now bring out the frowning forehead lines.  
  
Meg could slip inside his skin; fit herself like caulking into his crevices--could make him sleep inside, undisturbed by dead and gone Dean, and dying and leaving Cas. Or maybe she could slide into Cas, pushing out the burning Grace, hold his skin together herself. But it might kill her to try.  
  
She trails her fingers over the stubble of Cas's jaw.  


* * *

  
Sam wakes for his books, slimming shoulders hunched over the table. _Let me go Sammy_ , the note said, and Sam and Cas can't read those words, so they take to books they _can_ read with a zeal her father would have appreciated. Puppy pleading, they turn her to the archives.  
  
Reports and reports that read like things she’s done in Hell—they unwound a shifter piece by piece with a steel knife, then an iron one, then a silver one to see if it could regenerate its limbs. Then, for science--replicated the experiment.  
  
People fighting for the greater good have done more work for Hell than its paid employees.  
  
Meg sips decades old scotch from crystal as she hides away references to Hell Knights and anything Biblical in the old, dark places of the bunker Sam won't visit. Her memory is long, but not long enough to remember the sweet lies whispered to Cain; to remember his fingers curled red around the Blade.  
  
But Hell has its stories as Heaven and Earth and Purgatory have theirs.  
  
Even angels can't smite someone Marked by Cain--what Cain crafts, only he can unwind. Something about reaping what you sow, etc. etc. 

Meg downs the last of the scotch. Whatever Sam and Cas are looking for, they'll find the Dean Meg likes best, the Dean Cas only glimpsed while the angel was a surge of bright in the dark, the Dean Sam believes he understands but can't until he's been beneath his brother's blade.  
  
She finds Sam and Cas still pouring over books in the library; Meg stands behind Sam without announcing her presence. "Find anything?" asks Sam, tired eyes sluggish on the page.  
  
"No. Unfortunately, there isn't a Dewey Decimal system for monsters." She lifts his book away and doesn't bother reading any of it. "Eye strain, ever heard of it?" she drawls into his greasy hair.  
  
Sam shudders the same way he always does the first time she touches him, meat recoiling at the memory of her. The way he tried to when she used his finger to pull the trigger. Then he almost relaxes under the soft puffs of air from her mouth. She meets Cas's glassy eyes and smiles, even as his hands tremble with the energy his shell can't contain.  
  
Cas is dying slow, and they're still dancing to Dean's drumbeat. For Dean gone worse than dead. There are places in Hell they don't even whisper about the Knights, even after most are dead. Meg gently rakes nails over Sam's nape and presses a kiss to his crown the way Jess used to. With a wheeze, Cas crosses to them. He wraps arms around Meg from behind and whispers, "We'll find him."  
  
"No doubt about that, Clarence."  
  
Hopefully, Dean doesn't come for them first. She tightens her hold on Sam. If it's one place she doesn't want to be again, it's under Dean's blade.


End file.
